The Settlers: The Eastern Realm
by Rockerduck
Summary: My take on the expansion "The Eastern Realm". Because Alandra and Khana simply *have* to meet. WIP.
1. Introduction

Compulsory Disclaimer: All credit for characters, settings and everything else related goes to Blue Byte and Ubisoft, designers and distributors respectively.  
>Except Crimson Sabatt. I claim her as my own. Sue me if you dare!<p>

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><p><span>Author's Note:<span> Another re-upload of a story that's waiting to be rewritten. I figured it couldn't hurt to publish this once again, even though the story is far from finished. Many thank-you cookies go out to ParchmentRose for de-engmushing and going over the same old boring chapters with me as we discussed the rewrite. Love ya, Queensie! :D

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><p><strong>The Eastern Realm<strong>

"_A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles"_

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The Eastern Realm  
>Chapter One<p>

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**Months have passed since the Red Prince was vanquished, and peace and harmony now reign in the kingdom of Westerlin.  
>Old foes have atoned for their sins and been forgiven.<br>Much time has passed since the Knights were last summoned to the Vestholm throne room.**

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_Castle Vestholm, Westerlin_

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"We have received a message from the land of Basa to the south-east. Basa's vital trade route to distant Hidun has been cut off and they have received neither news nor goods from that far-off land. They seek our assistance." The tall, dark-skinned man from the land of Janub gestured towards a figure on the chart that lay on the table.

Grouped around the substantial oaken table in the centre of the room were several of the Darion Empire's trusted Knights.

Lady Kestral, an attractive young woman in leather armour, was comfortably established in a chair near the fireplace.

Lord Marcus, dressed in full battle armour, was bent over the table, studying the chart of Basa.

Lady Alandra, velvet cloak concealing most of her face, was studying the chart over Lord Marcus' shoulder.

And, which may come as a surprise, the rotund Lord of Trade, Lord Elias, was also present. The sturdy man had been released from prison two months ago, when the Queen had decided he had suffered enough for his crimes against Vestholm. The shrewd trader had atoned for the act of high treason he had committed on the Red Prince's behalf – or, more precisely, on behalf of his greed when Crimson Sabatt had offered him all of Westerlin if only he betrayed his Queen in the worst way possible. Though greedy he was, he was also a good and honest person who had once been one of the Knights of Vestholm, thus he was permitted amongst the Knights once more.

Their trust in him was shattered nonetheless, and it would take no small amount of time to undo the damage, if ever.

Their ranks were complete, as Lord Thordal was currently back in the northern realms with his people, claiming the Westerlin winter just wouldn't do for him.

Hakim continued his explanation, a long finger set on the map.

"Within this sparse strip of territory lie the geological expedition at Imapha and the monastery of the Healers of Baklash. Communication with both these places has recently been lost. What's more, there has been no sign of life from Basrima, the village closest to the border with Hidun. According to the latest report from Imapha, mercenaries formerly in the employ of the defeated Red Prince have been sighted in the region."

The chart room was well illuminated by the sunlight of early spring that flooded through the open windows. A pleasant chirping and singing of birds announced winter's end and the trees outside the castle had already begun to sprout leaves of bright green. The air was filled with vibrant life, and the Vestholm Knights were just as eager to shake out the cobwebs. It was time to set out again, to face new challenges and to expand their kingdom.

Marcus nodded thoughtfully as his plate-clad hand rubbed his chin. "More of the Red Prince's men, mh? I didn't think they would go so far to the east. This might just be the explanation for the trouble there. It seems we failed to round up all of them."

"It surprises me." Alandra tore her glance from the chart and looked towards the window, pondering. "However, I do not expect they are prepared for our intervention, it is likely they consider themselves safe from our grasp so far to the east."

"I know this trade route well," said Lord Elias, rubbing his rather impressive belly which had not suffered from his imprisonment, as it seemed. "These people of the east are not prepared for the likes of the Red Prince's mercenaries. Traders, mostly, and a successful bunch at that."

"Shouldn't be too hard to teach them a lesson, huh?" Kestral grinned, slouching in her armchair as she always did. "Truth be told I'm quite looking forward to it. It's been a boring couple of months, really. Plus, I don't enjoy that game of chess as much as our dear Wisey does. I'm more the… practical type, I guess."

Hakim pointed at another mark on the chart, a slight smirk on his keen southern face. "This should interest you then. I suggest we set up camp here and scout the area. Basa is-" The Southerner flung around when Kestral burst into a series of curses, wildly swatting at something that had come through the window.

"Go away, stupid bird! What the heck is wrong with you?" A large black bird viciously battled Kestral for the feathers on her helmet while emitting noisy croaks.

"That bird again!" shouted Marcus, while Alandra was torn between laughing and trying to help Kestral.

The black bird flapped wildly, pecked at Kestral and then let go to hobble across the floor in a fashion that appeared to be sulking.

The crow had become an annoyance for some time now. It had first appeared some odd months ago and grown more daring at every visit, until it had decided that open windows meant an invitation.

Hakim quickly scooped up the bird and tossed it into the direction of the nearest window, where it spread its wings and glided away effortlessly with a final, indignant croak.

"I hope it crashes into a tree!" Kestral scowled. Alandra laughed at Kestral's puffed cheeks.

"Back to the task at hand," said Marcus. He pointed at the map. "I agree, we should set up camp here and learn what this is all about. Basa is a long way from here, I suggest we set out tomorrow morning."

After the plan had been elaborated to everyone's satisfaction, Lady Alandra excused herself to attend to a different matter. She had promised to visit the wife of a fisherman at the outskirts of Vestholm, to check on her health and deliver more medicine if needed.

It wasn't uncommon for the Settlers to suffer through colds and similar illnesses at this time of year, where everyone was tempted into wearing less than they should.

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Two hours later, Alandra was on her way back to the castle.

She had found the health of the woman to her satisfaction and reassured her that all she needed was some rest before she returned to her normal amount of chores. It was still pleasantly sunny, and the young woman enjoyed her walk back after the confinement to the castle for most of winter. Alandra looked fondly at the trees of the small forest that she now walked. Westerlin was truly a beautiful country, especially at this time of year where the very air radiated with new life.

Suddenly, a twig cracked. Alandra tensed.

"Who goes there?" she asked.

"Who were you expecting?" said a mellow female voice. A tall figure stepped out from between the trees.

Alandra's eyes widened and she felt drawn into a familiar scene.

She had barely a second to react as Sabatt's blade slashed out towards her. She dived to one side and rolled away; then scrambled to her feet.

"Now, did I not tell you to never-"

"Turn my back? Yes, I learned that lesson." Alandra flung around, her sword at the ready. But not quite in the fashion Crimson Sabatt had expected: Alandra's gloves were firmly clasped around the upper part of her blade as she held her sword upside down, much like a hammer. "Does your arm still hurt?" And just as if it were a hammer she pulled back and delivered a powerful swing towards Sabatt, literally pommelling her left arm.

Sabatt smartly rolled to the side and used her own momentum to leap back to her feet, hissing between clenched teeth. "It does now, thank you very much."

In an instant, the tip of Alandra's sword was at her throat. "You're welcome."

Sabatt chuckled slightly. She seemed to enjoy this unexpected twist. "Someone has been exercising, I see. Since when do the Knights of Vestholm resort to such dirty moves?"

Alandra found it truly difficult to share that particular sense of humour.

"Since we know the likes of you," she retorted and sheathed her sword again, as did Sabatt who then rubbed her arm that had been severely pierced by one of Kestral's arrows some months ago.

"Consider yourself lucky I didn't cut it off! By the heavens, can't you say hello like any normal person, you… terrible, ludicrous woman?"

Alandra shook her head and finally broke into a smile. "Welcome back."

.

Vestholm's former enemy looked the same as she had always done: clad in exotic Guerannan garments in various shades of red and purple that were in fact a very clever mix of protective leather armour, designed for maximum agility, and sheer elegance. Alandra knew that the outfit also hid a conglomeration of pockets and loops to store various trinkets; she suspected that Sabatt carried an entire armoury of nasty little surprises with her at all times.

She had never been sure about the actual meaning of the black symbol on the chest-piece, but she suspected it was simply a 'CS' for 'Crimson Sabatt' designed to resemble a mock religious symbol, like the rest of her outfit closely resembled a religious uniform.

Alandra inadvertedly narrowed her eyes. She was going to have to reprimand her for such blatant mockery later.

Sabatt chuckled. "But I was never truly gone, Lady Alandra."

Her face had not changed either since Alandra had last seen her six months ago. Cold, calculating, with a deep pride, and more than just a subtle hint towards an expression that was her trademark sneer. If anything, Alandra surmised, she appeared to be a little less stiff, a little more at ease. Which probably meant more incidents of the mischievous kind. Ambushing people seemed to be Sabatt's idea of a great pastime.

No, Crimson Sabatt was definitely not an especially likeable person, but she did have her merits. One of them was that Alandra could safely berate her to her heart's content.

"I should have suspected. You made for Vestholm half a year ago, didn't you? And that crow belongs to you, too."

Alandra had indeed seen a glimpse of someone she had suspected to be Sabatt several times, although she had never been able to confirm her thoughts. In either case, these situations had been entirely strange to begin with, so she had never been sure whether to dismiss her observations as phantasms or not.

"One has to keep in touch. Especially when on a mission in far-away lands."

Both women were walking towards the castle side by side.

"So you are our mystery informant from Basa. Do the others know?"

Again, Sabatt chuckled. It was quite startling, really. Alandra wasn't sure whether a gleeful Crimson Sabatt was an improvement.

"It should come as a pleasant surprise."

"Only to you," Alandra remarked drily.

And indeed she was right.

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"Noooooo!" Kestral dramatically passed her hand over her face, sighing.

Lord Elias removed his heavy frame from the armchair by the fire, his expression a mix of curiosity and profound aversion.

Marcus stood at attention, then frowned as he looked at the two women who had just entered the room.

Hakim was, of course, the only one who wasn't surprised. He inclined his head for a respectful greeting and brought his right hand up to his forehead, as was customary in his homeland of Janub.

"Crimson Sabatt," said Marcus. He was torn between the uncanny desire to hurl the woman right out of the nearest window and the reluctant acknowledgement of her return, as much as he personally had hoped for that not to happen so soon.

Kestral continued to rant. "Did you find that in the street? I mean, I have no problem with stray dogs or something, but _that_ doesn't belong in here!"

Alandra's face showed her disapproval of such words, but she was not inclined to interfere this time. They had to come to terms on their own now.

Sabatt's eyebrow rose a sliver and that was the only reaction Kestral would get from her. "My, aren't you charming, Lady Kestral. I am here to stay."

"Dungeon's that way." Kestral pointed her finger.

"Now, now, this is not how we treat our fellow Knights."

Kestral took a sharp breath. "Knock it off already! If you're a Darion Knight, then I'm–"

"A former mercenary leader, perhaps? Indeed, that seems to be the case. It is not my intention to aggravate you, Lady Kestral. I expected you should find it… gratifying that I have finally come to aid your empire after the very disagreeable circumstances of our previous affairs." Sabatt's patronising speech was accented by an elegant use of gestures as she strode further into the room, her eyes briefly fastened on each of the knights. They were locked on Kestral as she continued to gesture with one hand on her back, as she often would.

"I realise this comes as a shock to you. Even if you, Lady Kestral, of all people should understand such a… change of heart."

Kestral rose from her chair and belligerently pointed at their opponent. "Stop right there, Crimmy! You're not actually being _serious_ about this, are you?"

Crimson Sabatt held up both hands in a peaceable manner. "But of course I am. Would I be here, otherwise? There is no point in antagonising Vestholm any longer. I have sworn allegiance to the Queen, and indeed months ago."

It was Marcus who crossed the distance between them and, with a stern look upon his face, accepted Sabatt's alliance through a handshake. "You know that we won't trust you easily. However, your misguided loyalty to the Red Prince was remarkable, and you have already proven a fragment of that loyalty towards Vestholm, I give you that. You could have made your escape and I suspected you had, but you being here shows that you are earnest about this. If Her Majesty and Lady Alandra put their faith in your sincerity, then so do I." He took a deep breath as if he himself had to get used to that thought. "Everyone makes mistakes. Let's make a clean start. How are we to address you now?"

The black-haired woman chuckled slightly in reaction to the unexpected compliment. "You are most welcome to stick with Crimson Sabatt."

Kestral crossed the room to confront the new-arrival face to face. "So, since that Red Prince business is done, there's something I want to hear from you before –I– believe you. Everyone makes mistakes, huh? That doesn't do for me."

Sabatt wrinkled her brow as she looked at the woman in front of her, slightly taken aback.

Marcus and Alandra shared an apprehensive look. "Kestral..." Alandra chided softly.

Sabatt stated slowly but smoothly, fully aware that Kestral wanted to hear something else: "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah, everyone does, but does that include your snooty self, Crimmy? Say it!"

Even Hakim moved in closer now, his footsteps were barely audible as he approached the two women from the side.

For a very brief moment, Crimson Sabatt's face altered in a way that made Marcus grope for his sword, but he let his hand drop when Sabatt seemed to relax again in an instant.

"Why, Lady Kestral, seeing it is obviously of concern to you…" She shrugged in a demonstration of her indifference. "I made a mistake in siding with the Red Prince." That wasn't even a lie – Crimson Sabatt, of course, preferred to be on the _winning_ side.

Kestral squinted one eye, then nodded. "Well then, welcome, I guess. No need to show you 'round, right? And I'm not helping with your stuff!"

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><p>The Eastern Realm, Chapter One<br>updated: 9. Mar. 2012  
>word count: 2706<p> 


	2. A Woman Scorned

Author's Note: I feel I need to warn you, this chapter does contain some swearing and violence. I always try to keep it at a low, humorous level, however I felt this was necessary to elaborate on Kestral's and Sabatt's enmity. No actual persons were injured during the making of this chapter. We have capable psychotherapists tending to the protagonists. They'll be fine.

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><p>.<p>

The Eastern Realm  
>Chapter Two<p>

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It took more than the estimated day to prepare the journey to Basa, and the Knights finally set out after three days of organising their luggage and the three-mast caravel that would take them to Basa's coast. The vessel bore an impressive foresail adorned with Vestholm's vibrant azure blue colours as it lay in the Eastern Harbour ready to be boarded.

The five Westerlin Knights made an appearance that was no less magnificent. Each of them was decked out in their own colours along the Westerlin coat of arms, five banners swaying in the wind as five riders approached the harbour in close formation.

Lady Alandra and Lord Marcus rode in the front row, their banners sporting the white, maroon and gold of Alandra's cross-and-shield crest and Marcus' red on azure eagle.

Lady Kestral's coat of arms of choice consisted of a rampant horse in green on tawny and argent, Lord Hakim's of a golden lion on blue and sable. Crimson Sabatt had, which came as no surprise, chosen a black raven on crimson ground to represent her which led to Kestral having an unruly amount of fun whispering vulture-related insults to her as they rode, which were quickly met by mule- and horse-face counters.

Celebrating Settlers framed the cobblestone road to hail their Knights. It was a truly festive occasion when the Knights set out on their mission to the East. There could be no doubt whatsoever that the Westerlin Settlers loved their Knights, and more than just one young Settler maiden tried to get Marcus' attention that day. He took it all in good humour, although there certainly was a blush on his cheeks every now and then.

By the time he had arrived at the ship he was covered in flowers which forced a cheerful laugh from both Alandra and Kestral.

It turned into snarl at Sabatt when her pet crow settled down on Kestral's head and pecked at her ear. The two women continued to annoy each other with whatever they could get their hands on while the other Knights took care of the things that were actually required to get them going.

In short: Everything was in perfect order.

When the mighty ship finally set sail for Basa, Marcus and Alandra stood at the railing and waved to the Settlers until they were well out of sight.

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It was hard for Kestral to endure their new company, very, very hard. The young woman wasn't a spiteful person, yet her natural dislike of Crimson Sabatt had grown into a solid, belly-churning hate that prompted the strong urge to cut that sneer out of Sabatt's face every time she saw her – and those were, being on a ship on the ocean headed to Basa – many times. There were only so many places on a ship, after all.

It wasn't so much that the former Red Prince's agent tried to agitate her, Kestral elaborated on her thoughts as she sat on one of the ship's upper deck cannons. Large, unshapely things so slow to operate that she deemed them nearly useless despite Lord Marcus' immediate excitement with this new technology – or the re-discovery of an old technology, as Hakim had remarked. The ancient kings of old, especially the famous King Dario who had founded their empire many centuries ago, had been renowned for using such devices in warfare.

Kestral didn't trust those fire-spitting things, she preferred to rely on an entirely non-explosive bow, thank you very much.

It was a clash of worlds, much like Sabatt with her privileged background of doing whatever she felt like doing or treating people how she felt like treating them, and Kestral, for whom the strong ruled and the weaker obeyed. Sabatt –was– not only physically weaker than her but also in no position to waltz around like she belonged with their company.

It was not fair. She had no right to assume a place among the Knights simply because she had done the smart thing and surrendered to the Queen.

Kestral scowled.

It had taken her forever to earn her place among the Westerlin Knights, many months of daily struggles to prove to them that she may have been raised by bandits, but that she was trustworthy.

She had worked hard for her place.

Sabatt was still Crimson Sabatt, the wretched, evil, ruthless agent of their worst enemy, and they decided to take her along?

She didn't deserve to be there, she had no right to. Everything that woman had ever done was sneaking, cheating, lying, threatening, kidnapping, murdering.

Kestral was certainly no saint, but those things, even in her book, meant Sabatt should be locked away and punished instead of worming her way into the trust of those Kestral considered her friends.

And this was the other thing, that thing which distressed her far more than she would ever be able to admit.

Kestral had no illusions regarding her position among the group of knights. She was the outsider, the only one with no remarkable or noble background and heritage. Daughter of a bandit at that, just a common miscreant who had somehow managed to impress them. Even more common than Lord Marcus who, despite his Settler upbringing, was every inch a noble knight.

She was the weakest link, and maybe her friends had decided that they would replace her, now that the wench from Gueranna had come along.

Kestral clenched her fists and repressed an angry cry of anger that sat at the back of her throat in a painful lump.

She hated the guts of that woman! Her perfect face, her alabaster skin, her tall, shapely figure, her pleasant, educated voice, her always perfect hair; yes, perfect, that's what she was; and she was also a cunning, scheming beast who just didn't deserve to make her, Kestral, look like a gypsy in tattered rags!

For the first time in her life, Kestral was deeply jealous of another woman. Of a woman who was always elegantly dressed and groomed, who was witty and no doubt appealing to many a man, a woman who could fight, ride and take whatever she wanted. And on top of that, she could do all that in a dress.

Kestral had never been unhappy with the way she looked or dressed, she was comfortable being who she was – or so she had thought.

Crimson Sabatt was a devil in disguise, but she was also every inch a woman in a world that to Kestral had always been a man's.

She hated her for never having to fight and struggle to survive in a world that was dominated by men, for never having to choose between who she wanted to be and who she had to be in order to survive. Kestral's hazel eyes smouldered with ill-boding passion.

There was an order to everything, and she was at the top of this order because she had earned her right to be there! Not because she was born into some wealthy family and had a stick up her backside.

Kestral hated Crimson Sabatt for being what she had been denied all her life.

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><p>.<p>

The throne room was vacant.

It appeared so much wider and taller than it ever had, its lofty ceiling obscured by clouds of looming darkness up above.

The light of the giant, arched windows was somehow strange to the eye and hardly managed to penetrate the twilight of the empty room.

Kestral looked around, startled by the impressions this familiar place evoked in her. Was she the only one here?

The numbing silence of this emptiness began to weigh down on her. She turned her head, but the strange blur to her vision did not subside. It seemed, she thought, as if some wicked force prevented her from recognising any of the details she knew had to be there. It was so very hard to even recognise the table, let alone the carvings, even the banners were indistinct. The all too familiar throne room had turned into an unspeakably surreal image of her home in Vestholm, where nothing had the right angle and all colours were reduced to shades of grey.

Then, a distant creak, startling as it tore through the silence. A sound like a door being opened, far away and near at the same time, and Kestral suddenly realised that this was where her friends must be, and spun around.

The giant wooden double doors stood ajar, and in the doorway stood a horrific, larger-than-life Crimson Sabatt.

Her face was ghastly, those amber eyes pits of pure malice. In an angel's voice she said: "I'm here to tear down everything around you, and you know what I'm going to replace you with? Something new."

Kestral stumbled backwards, an expression of horror on her face. This was becoming way too much for her. Was this was Sabatt had always looked like?

From behind Sabatt emerged her friends; Marcus, Hakim and even Alandra strode past the crimson-clad woman as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

None of them seemed to notice the distress Kestral was in, or the strange appearance of the throne room.

She turned to her father for aid, but she could not understand his words, and when she desperately pleaded with her friends to notice that Sabatt was crossing the room towards the throne, she couldn't understand them, too. Kestral wanted to scream and hold onto Hakim, then Marcus, but her hands could not reach them, and they did not stop to wait for her.

They went away, leaving her here, alone and terrified, like her father had gone, like everyone else had left her, without even looking back.

Why couldn't they hear her desperate cries for attention? Here she was, yelling at them! Waving her arms, flailing them, they surely had to notice!

She turned, having nowhere to go but she had the terrible desire to flee, because the room had now changed into a whirl of fiery reds and crimsons that filled her with rage and fear as this was the Red Prince's domain and she knew she would be captured and tortured if the guards saw her here – how could she even think this was Vestholm?

Where was the door?

She ran, and a surge of relief swept across her when she saw her mare Dutch approach her. She would escape after all, her only friend would race her to safety.

Dutch screamed, a large crow was hacking at her, and Kestral screamed with her as she threw herself forward, desperate to reach her horse and aid her.

They had to get away now, the room was on fire, one of the braziers must have tipped over, and the crow just didn't let go!

Just as Kestral was about to reach her horse she noticed that it was not Dutch the bird attacked, but it was a slimy green snake that was curled around the leg of her mare, its fangs exposed and dripping with venom.

"Dutch!" she cried, "we need to get out of here!"

And then she woke up, the image of the crow pecking at the head of the ugly green snake fresh on her mind.

Kestral groggily wiped the sweat from her brow and took a moment to recollect her thoughts.

Just a nightmare, she reassured herself. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep through the rest of the night, and the urge to see her horse was strong in her mind.

Sighing, Lady Kestral crawled out of the hammock in her small cabin and groped for her clothes.

If only Dutch was safe.

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"Halt!"

The voice of the young woman came in no uncertain manner, and her hand on the hilt of her dagger served only to emphasise the command. Kestral stood at the base of the ramp that led from the upper deck to the cargo hold she had entered. The few dim oil lamps did little to penetrate the window-less darkness of the lower decks, but Kestral didn't have to rely on their light to be entirely certain of the identity of the person she had just hailed in such a fashion – Crimson Sabatt.

There really were only so many places on a ship.

Sabatt's features were indistinct as light and shadow played tricks on the eye with every gentle sway of the ceiling lamps. Her brows raised in a mock expression of surprise, she stepped out of the shadows and sneered. "Lady Kestral, how charming. Is it my purse or my life now?"

Her pale face was now in plain sight. She smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but it was a smile of immense enjoyment on Kestral's expense.

The former bandit leader crossed the distance between them and came to a halt only two steps in front of her opponent. Her hand was still on the dagger at her belt. She stood squarely, in a good balance and completely at the ready. Her voice came every bit as steady, low and threatening. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't so much a question as an initiation to the confrontation she was determined to have with the Guerannan.

Sabatt's expression didn't alter in the least. "You are lacking in observance if I need to tell you, little bandit. Has stalking me already proven too tiring for you?"

Sabatt clearly wasn't prepared for Kestral's prompt, non-verbal response to her mockery. This was not a good time to annoy her.

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Crimson Sabatt slammed into the wall, Kestral's dagger pressed to her side ready to pierce her innards. "Keep your purse," she hissed with her face only inches away from Sabatt's which had lost all trace of glee.

The former Red Prince's agent was wise enough not to move. A dagger to one's side was always a very convincing reason to resort to a more diplomatic attitude.

"Very well," she stated calmly with her back to the literal wall, "so you made your point. What do you want from me?" Her expression was searching as her eyes roamed Kestral's face whose eyes smouldered hatefully in the orange light.

The menacing glare was unsettling, even to one as ignorant as Crimson Sabatt.

"We need to straighten out a couple of things." Kestral's voice was barely more than a growl, but the short distance between their faces made it sufficiently audible. "I will ask you a few questions, and your answers better be to my liking if you want your rotten heart to remain in your chest. Understand?"

Sabatt nodded. She wasn't actually intimidated, only sightly irritated. She had a sufficient amount of tricks up her sleeve to free herself from this situation, but she didn't need the ruckus just now, unless the insolent rogue was really stupid enough to try and kill her.

At this point it was just a little baring of teeth, an attempt to cow her, and Sabatt was humoured enough to play along if it served to prevent any attention towards her currently somewhat unfavourable position.

The woman's ego was much more developed than her perception of immediate danger.

The dagger didn't move, nor did Kestral. Only her face had altered and showed a fair amount of self-righteous smugness. "That was easy, Crimmy. So you an't only a rotten piece of scum but also a coward, huh? Nothing but hot air, as always."

"Don't push your luck with me, scoundrel. Ask your questions and begone before you get yourself hurt."

The tip of the knife pushed harder into the crimson fabric. It might have been painful and it likely was meant to be, if not for the sturdy leather jerkin Sabatt wore. Her outfit was as deceptive as the rest of her. She was far from being naïve enough to rely on a _dress_ to protect herself from close encounters with the many 'friends' she had – that was just for looks.

"Why don't you tell me your plans now that you've managed to cheat the gallows for another while, huh? What were you doing with the cargo? Adding a flavour of Ghost Plague perhaps?"

Sabatt's face altered for only a split-second, then switched back to a look of amusement that was only barely concealed when she answered: "You would really believe that, wouldn't you? I was under the impression these were going to be intelligent questions."  
>She chuckled despite the sharp blade that cut into her clothes. "Your suspicious naïveté is thoroughly endearing. What are my plans, you wonder? I will aid you on this mission on behalf of the lovely Westerlin. As for what will no doubt be your next question: no, I do not intent on harming your precious little friends, although I might be inclined to harm you, gypsy, should you not remove your toy sword from my side immediately. This fabric is more valuable than anything you could ever possibly hope to own, and you don't want to get in trouble, do you?"<p>

On reflection, these probably weren't the wisest words to say to Kestral.

Kestral's bare fist smashed into the side of Sabatt's head and nearly knocked her out when the ship's wooden frame proved to be every inch as solid as it looked. Sabatt didn't have time to acknowledge the sudden sensation of blackness to her vision, because Kestral's second hit to her stomach added an entirely unpleasant surge of nausea to the experience. It felt like a rodeo on the worst maverick horse imaginable, and when Sabatt could finally see anything save a spinning room she decided she did not care to repeat that ride.

The young woman's scornful face loomed over her. Her arms were crossed. "If I ever catch you acting like the Red Prince's lap dog, or if I ever see you do anything to sabotage our mission, or if you as much as think of harming anyone, be it Knight or Settler, I'm going to skin your hide and kill you – in that order." Her glowering face was sufficient leverage to add weight to those words. "Tough luck you're dealing with a _gypsy_, huh? I predict a very short and very unfortunate future for you if you cross us. Got that?"

There was only one reasonable answer to that question, and Crimson Sabatt signalled her compliance while her brain was still busy trying to put gravity back in order and figure out which part of the room was actually the floor.

"Swell." Kestral smiled wryly. "Don't let anyone catch you like that, _Lady_ Sabatt. Have a great night."

.

For Kestral, things couldn't have gone any better. The young woman was pleased with the result of their 'conversation' although she didn't usually need or want to thrash anyone. It really was not her style to be brutal, but it worked and it probably was the only thing that did. A haughty, self-centred person like Sabatt wouldn't respect her any other way. Kestral was no fool, she knew she had no hopes of beating Sabatt in her own arena of deceptive mind-games – if Kestral wanted to subdue her she had to do it by physical means, simply because she was clearly superior in that field.

Of course, it had also been satisfying to knock her down a peg or two. Who wouldn't want to beat the living daylights out of her?

Freedom was a privilege that should be appreciated, and respect had to be earned, like trust and rank. Kestral didn't even remotely fathom what made the other Knights treat their malicious rival like a member of their group, but she knew one thing: People didn't change. She had been insistent on the contrary whenever a discussion about her heritage occurred, but it wasn't actually that simple. People could adapt their behaviour or habits, but not who they really were. She had lived a bandit's life and learned a bandit's trade, but she was not ignorant of justice, compassion or generosity.

In order to break the rules one had to acknowledge their existence first. Something Crimson Sabatt had not ever done; she played by no rules. There were no excuses for the horrible crimes she had committed for her megalomaniac master, and she certainly showed no traces of remorse.

Kestral knew that Sabatt wouldn't cease craving power much like Lady Alandra wouldn't cease being too trusting or Elias wouldn't cease wearing his dorky fur hat.

No disguise, no matter how clever, would ever change this fact.

.

As the young woman paced off victorious, her temporary befuddled rival had managed to assemble herself somewhat. That had been a very… unexpected encounter.

Contrary to Lady Kestral's belief, Sabatt didn't actually enjoy brutality – especially not when on the receiving end, of course.

It was power she relished and she took pleasure in obtaining it, violence, to her, was just a tool like any other to acquire it. She ultimately preferred more subtle methods. Sabatt wasn't a person to casually resort to physical threats to intimidate – if she moved in, she moved in for a kill. If she drew her weapon she meant it, with the exception of a few mock fights. Any other way was, in her own perception, uncivilised and below her.

No one had ever plain pummelled Crimson Sabatt to the ground, and the thought had never crossed her mind that anyone should even try – because, obviously, there was an order to everything, and she was at the top of this order. She had never conceived of a world where lesser mortals would simply walk up to her and punch her in the face.

It was unthinkable to be disrespected in such a fashion. She began to understand that this now-knighted bandit offspring was a different challenge than anything she was accustomed to.

It would be her sadistic pleasure to crush and destroy the little misfit.

She would think of a suitable revenge once her terrible headache had subsided and she could be certain the contents of her stomach would remain where they belonged.

Which probably wouldn't be for a while. A great night indeed.

.

* * *

><p>The Eastern Realm, Chapter Two<br>updated: 9. Mar. 2012  
>word count: 3788<p> 


	3. Jump That Rock

Author's Note: Okay, this is terribly chliché, I realise this. I've had three or four different versions of the events that would lead to Alandra's little speech, some dramatic, some violent, but I've decided I wanted to use this version. Why? Because it cracks me up!

Professional stuntmen were used to perform this scene.** Do not attempt this at home!**

* * *

><p>.<p>

_"Let go over a cliff, die completely, and then come back to life - after that you cannot be deceived"_

****.

.

And then, on the day they had arrived at Basa's southern coast and everyone was busy unloading the boats and erecting a base camp, the time had come for Crimson Sabatt to take her revenge.

"Surprise," came a low voice near Kestral's ear. Something sharp and pointy was pressed against her back. "Well, gypsy, I predict you this: you will apologise for your little troublemaking the other day."

It had apparently been a bad idea of Kestral's to explore the surroundings of their base camp on her own. She was missing her dagger from her belt and she had a faint idea who might have it.

"I sure as anything won't! Why should I?"

"Let's just say I don't associate with the likes of bandits on such a personal level."

"_You_ don't associate with bandits? Maybe -I- don't associate with the Red Prince's _tramp general_*_!_"

The change in Crimson Sabatt's countenance was remarkable. She looked as if she'd been slapped across the face with a damp rag. Her eyes grew even narrower as she intently fastened her gaze on Kestral (the back of her head, that is). Her voice was icy and barely audible. "I hope you are a fast runner, because you better start running now." Oh yes, that had struck home.

And run she did, but not until Kestral had delivered a sharp blow to Sabatt's side with her elbow; followed by her fuming opponent who looked like a creature straight from a nightmare with her feathered cape blowing from her back and shoulders. The dagger in her hand had turned into an instrument of impending Armageddon.

"Give me the dagger!" shouted Kestral, well ahead of Sabatt and turning her head to estimate the distance between them.

"Come and get it!" yelled Sabatt.

"Then stop running!" challenged Kestral.

"Why don't _you_?" It was a recipe for disaster.

And it was easily the most bizarre thing anyone could have ever witnessed. The two women engaged into a fierce hand-to-hand combat that evolved around the dagger in Sabatt's clutch and turned into a wrestling match that hardly befit a knight.

It was only a few gallons of dirt short of mud wrestling. This was never meant to be a fair fight, it was an opportunity to shred each other to pieces without as much as a half-hearted attempt at a reason. Both craved this, and they both knew the rules to this kind of inherently female fight.

"Stop writhing!" Kestral managed to get hold of a fistful of Sabatt's hair and pulled.

"Make me!" shrieked Sabatt as she clawed at Kestral's eyes.

Both rolled on the ground in such an utterly disgraceful manner they could have paused an entire war by the unbelievable sight alone.

Maybe it was true that women always resorted to this kind of cat fight no matter their station.

Or maybe they simply wanted to tear each other apart in the most rewarding, physical way possible.

All bets were clearly on Kestral until Sabatt managed to get her into a firm headlock which lasted for a whole of two seconds.

When Kestral had nearly managed to wind the dagger out of Sabatt's fist, her opponent bit her. Hard. "Bad Crimmy! Down!" Kestral kicked at her and down she went, and dropped the dagger in the process.

"Oh, whoa, impressive. Is that some kind of Red Prince elite move or have you been practising?"

Sabatt, crouching on the sandy ground, hissed: "Go jump off a mountain!"

"What else can you do? Roll over?"

That, too, she could, taking Kestral with her whose hand reached for the dagger on the ground.

It wasn't a terribly smart idea to challenge Kestral to a hand-to-hand combat, but Crimson Sabatt did reasonably well for someone who hardly ever partook in this kind of activity.

More hair was pulled and more insults were exchanged.

The world could have stopped turning without them noticing.

And that was by far the biggest mistake about this whole affair, as hilariously embarrassing as it already was.

The dagger, kicked away by a flailing foot, slid across the ground and lay in plain sight.

Kestral let go of Sabatt and threw herself towards the weapon, or so she tried, but alas she was somewhat hindered by her angrily screaming opponent, misjudged the distance and toppled over the edge of the cliff whose existence both women had completely removed from their minds.

"Hah!" cheered a triumphant Crimson Sabatt as she went to pick up the dagger.

And was grabbed by the throat by Lady Kestral who hung on to the edge of the cliff with one hand, closing the other around Sabatt's throat. "Surprise!"

Thus followed the next mistake. Crimson Sabatt, in her unfortunate position, did the only thing that was considerably more stupid than trying to wrestle Kestral: she kicked her, and thus the person who had her throat in a firm grasp while dangling from a cliff.

She was hauled off her feet.

.

Lord Marcus emerged from his tent and checked the fit of his belt as he did so. His longsword was strapped to his side, and he nodded to himself, satisfied. He was all set up, just having finished putting his things in the tent. Alandra was already awaiting him in the centre of the camp site where she had set up a makeshift table, a large map of parchment in her hands. Lord Hakim stood with her, easily looking over her shoulder to get a view of the map.  
>Marcus ran a hand through his hair and prepared to approach his companions at a smart pace – until he was blown off his feet and blinded by the awning of his tent which fell over his eyes.<p>

The impact wasn't nearly as loud as it should have been, judged by the sheer amount of damage it did.  
>Kestral crashed into the roof of the tent, effectively taking it down in the process, followed by Sabatt who smashed whatever might have still been standing.<p>

Both came to a halt, face down in the remnants of Marcus' tent.

With a little thumping sound the dagger landed right in front of them, just out of reach.

Two sets of eyes locked on the weapon. Two sets of hands twitched with the desire to be the first to reach it. Both prepared to lunge forward.

"This is quite enough now!" bellowed an angry female voice. Alandra's incredibly angry glare locked on both of them after she had hurried to their side.

She helped Marcus up without even taking her eyes off the two women.

"I do _not_ want to know who started this! But there is one thing I have _you_ know, both of you: This ends here! We haven't even begun this mission and already you are at each other's throats – not like I would not have expected one of you to act out."

As was her talent, Lady Alandra managed to be reprehensive on so many levels it was near impossible to simply dismiss her. She continued in her sincere fashion while Marcus calmly brushed the sand off his trousers.

"You will both work this out, and we will see no more of this! Let me be clear: I will not go on this mission with two insolent children instead of fellow knights! If you wish to act like children, then be treated as such. If any of you hazards our expedition into these lands by any kind of aggressive behaviour towards another member of the company, I will _personally _pack you on a boat and ship you back home, both of you!"

It was an impressive speech from a woman who had just witnessed two of her followers fall from the sky and crush a tent in the process.

For once, Alandra had immediately come to the right conclusion.

Kestral looked at Crimson Sabatt. Crimson Sabatt looked at Kestral.

"Your fault," Kestral hissed.

"What was that?" snapped Lady Alandra. Standing over them like a ferocious mother hen, she folded her arms, her face entirely hidden by the hood. "Up with you and let me check you for injuries. After I'm done with you you will build up that tent again, and you'll do it _together _– don't you _dare_ any snide remarks, Sabatt!"

Crimson Sabatt closed her mouth. An enraged Alandra was a force not to be trifled with, and both knew they would do exactly what she demanded.

Marcus, in the meantime, simply shook his head in a placid 'I've seen it all' way and took the map Hakim handed him without as much as a comment.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_The same day, late evening_

.

"Alandra is right, you know." A slim shape ducked under the tent awning and entered the dimly lit domain of Crimson Sabatt, her personal sworn enemy. The owner of the tent looked up from the book she was reading, lounging on an assortment of cushions. Her expression turned into a frown of disapproval when Kestral stood at the entrance to face her. The unfortunate biscuit in her hand suffered its untimely demise in her clenched fist.

"Really." Sabatt shut her book with a thud (and disposed of the crumbs). "And what are you going to do about it?"

Sabatt removed herself from the cushions in a sophisticated, elegant manner that forced a scowl from Kestral who crossed her arms, giving the Guerannan a nasty look.

The two women confronted each other with merely their eyes, wise enough not to engage into another brawl. Their previous encounter had left them both thoroughly bruised.

"Gosh, I really hate you," muttered Kestral as she briefly turned her eyes away to mark her words with a studied expression of thorough aversion.

"How very touching." Crimson Sabatt was, of course, entirely ignorant of whether or not this Settler-bred mongrel should hate her.

The curly-haired woman uncrossed her arms to point a finger at Sabatt. It was not so much pointing as actually pushing into the front of her crimson garments. The woman from Gueranna quite literally ruffled her feathers at such treatment, giving her the impression of an angered crow. Or vulture, as Kestral thought.

Sabatt gracefully detached herself from Kestral's fingertip by taking a smooth backwards step. Her brow was raised the usual sliver. "Well?"

Kestral's eyes glinted with stubborn pride. "Have a seat somewhere?"

The moment of suspense subsided when Sabatt casually motioned towards the seating area of her small domain.

"Very well; se tu vuoi, brigante."

"Try to insult me in a language that's not gibberish."

The hideous crow watched Kestral from atop its perch where it sat like the parrots she had seen in Janub. She walked past Sabatt with as casual a stride as she could muster.

"Oh, but I didn't."

"Really. Well, Sabby," the former mercenary leader announced in an equally casual tone, "You know I never believed you actually were on our side."

The young woman sat down on a large cushion and looked around briefly, trying to give this the impression of an everyday conversation. She needed Sabatt to think that this really was no big deal for her, when in fact it was. The young woman had spent most of the day contemplating Alandra's patronising speech, and while she didn't feel particularly close with her she had learned to value her fellow knights' opinions. Kestral knew she had a quick temper and rash attitude that sometimes didn't lead to the best of decisions.  
>This time, however, she had thought long and hard and she realised that she had to end her enmity with Crimson Sabatt at least on a temporary basis in order not to hazard their operations in these lands.<p>

She hated the guts of that woman, but she loved her friends and Westerlin; she would not put them at stake.

Crimson Sabatt cocked her head to the side after she had settled down opposite of Kestral. The look she gave the younger woman was inquisitive. "So I've heard."

Kestral briskly pushed some hair out of her face and back over her shoulder. "You and I are going to make a deal."

Sabatt tilted her head to the other side, very much giving an impersonation of her own pet crow as she did. "And why might I be inclined to do such a thing?"

"Because," Kestral explained with a stern expression, "let's face it, we don't trust each other, and this is a problem, correct? Alandra is right, we can't work on this mission if we can't rely on each member of the group." She scanned Sabatt's face, then continued. "I'm not saying we need to like each other. I'm not happy they took you along, but that's how it is, so ..."

"Diplomacy has never been your strong point, has it?" Crimson Sabatt said at length while she tilted her head back up.

"Duplicity has never been my strong point, unlike yours, Sabatt," Kestral retorted sharply.

Crimson Sabatt's eyes narrowed in a familiar expression of discontent that turned into an empty smirk. "Definitely not your strong point." She casually brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Continue."

"I give you my word that I an't gonna give you a hard time if you give me yours that you won't attempt to harm anyone unless it's by our orders or necessary to survive on this mission. Words are cheap, though; you have the habit of not staying true to yours. So we're going to do this my way."

Sabatt was not amused, evident by the look of icy anger that was now on her face, because Kestral was actually mistaken. Crimson Sabatt had stayed true to her word on those rare occasions she gave it – that is, for as long as those able to hold her to it remained in a state alive enough to do so, which was sometimes not too long given they were prone to mysterious and tragic accidents.

A smug grin crept onto Kestral's features. "So. Give me your word as a knight or whatever you consider yourself to be. Don't, and Alandra should be very happy to hear _all_ of this. And believe me, I can be very convincing." She leaned in towards Sabatt, once again pressing the tip of her finger into her front while fastening her eyes on her. "You're going to give me your word and seal it by blood," she said in a low, dramatic voice. "In a blood pact."

Kestral could barely suppress her mischievous triumph when Crimson Sabatt's eyes grew large with what was no doubt anxiety.

"If you break it, you've forfeit your life _and_ I will make sure you'll be locked away in the darkest, dampest prison cell Vestholm offers, and if I personally have to dig you a hole that's deep enough."

In an overly dramatic motion, Kestral drew a dagger. It was the very same dagger they had fought over hours ago. She tried to hide her smug grin when she noticed her rival's wince of surprise.

Sabatt had by now backed away as far as she could without being too obvious about it. The sheer amount of disbelief on her face could no longer be hidden by any attempt. She was clearly distressed. "You certainly don't expect me to–"

"Watch." The former mercenary extended her left arm and gently put the blade on her own wrist. "It's easy. We simply slice our arms, see?"

Sabatt was entirely and thoroughly taken aback now, and her face was even paler than normal which was certainly an achievement with a natural complexion the colour of a bed sheet. The woman from Gueranna was overwhelmed by such barbaric customs (nevermind her own behaviour, of course). The thought of drawing blood from her own arm made her quite nauseous. She was, of course, an excessively vain and self-loving person, and maiming herself was among the top ten things that she definitely wasn't keen on doing. Another was falling from a cliff, but that couldn't be helped anymore.

Kestral enjoyed her expression to the fullest. "Well, Crimmy, you don't have to." Her words came in the same deceptively calm tone she had used before. "I'm sure you can convince Marcus he's better off trusting _you_ than me."

Crimson Sabatt collected herself in an attempt at dignity and slowly started to pull off her left glove.

Kestral couldn't help but notice that she seemed to always wear gloves. And she noticed something else: The part of her glove that covered her arm up to the elbow wasn't actually a glove at all. It was a bracer, leather most likely, coated by whatever material it was that Sabatt's garments consisted of. She might have misjudged the woman somewhat, that dress wasn't as useless as it seemed. Clever.

If Lord Marcus had reason to doubt her, thought Crimson Sabatt, it was either fight or flight, and she ultimately didn't prefer to lose the comfortable life outside a prison cell. There was simply no way she could coax Marcus into anything, he was smarter than that by far by now.

"Swell. Just remember that you can't break this blood pact, ever. Your head will explode if you attempt to do so."

Sabatt froze.

Her eyes went narrow and, like daggers out of a hot brazier, smouldered at Kestral.

"You," she finally concluded in a very low and icy voice, "are leading me on."

And Kestral collapsed into bursts of pearly laughter.

"Sorry," she spluttered between laughs, "I just wanted to see if you'd do it."

Kestral didn't realise how lucky she was. The only way to pacify Crimson Sabatt was to baffle her, and she was completely baffled. Too baffled to assassinate the insolent little bandit. Too baffled to do anything but stare in profound bewilderment.

The young woman continued to laugh as she admitted: "There's no stupid bandit blood pact. Fooled you, Crimmy. What you gonna do, tear down a tent – again?" She chortled, curls shaking with muffled laughter.

Sabatt blinked, then stated: "No. I think not."

She, too, began to chuckle after a while when she realised her mistake – she really ought to know better by now. "Unless you are going to tell anyone, of course."

"Don't worry, this remains our little secret. Let's end this stupid feud, shall we? You have my word."

Kestral held out her hand in a friendly, peaceable manner, and Sabatt took it, evidently still somewhat bemused. "And I give you mine, rogue. I am and I have been on Vestholm's side. Do not make false assumptions about me."

"I will not have you run around on your own and do whatever, though. You gotta learn to work within systems, you know. I'll keep a very close eye on you, Crimmy."

The other woman never turned her eyes from Kestral. The look upon her face was priceless and ever so smug, if not gleeful. "And you must learn to pick your battles, lest you will find that very bad things can happen to those who attract the wrong enemies."

"Like who," Kestral countered, "– you? Give me a break, your head is too far up your backside."

"And my boot could very well be up _yours_ very soon."

"So you're not even going to pretend to be all nice and play the 'I've reformed' game now?"

"No. Nice doesn't suit me."

"That's like the first thing you say that's actually true."

"Maybe you simply don't listen well." Sabatt's brow rose in the usual manner while she smirked.

"You're sneaky." Kestral grinned. "You almost got me fooled into believing you were somehow humorous."

Sabatt launched into her trademark sneer. "Oh no, I'm not; not in my line of work."

Kestral burst into bubbly laughter again.

Sabatt's brow rose another sliver as she watched this reaction. Her face altered to a smug expression. She found this, for some reason, rather enjoyable. "I can be. Whatever suits you."

"But I still hate your guts."

"The feeling is entirely mutual."

Kestral got up. "Yeah. Night, Crimmy."

"Good night, rogue."

That woman was truly a nutcase.

And, unbeknownst to herself, Kestral begun to like this.

.

* * *

><p>* Credit for this hilarious nickname goes to the unknown person whose review of "The Settlers – Rise of an Empire" I've read some time ago. This was the only thing that stuck. My apologies, but it is too good not to use and confront her with. I am sure it was meant in an entirely nice and non-offensive way. Because, really, who would ever think that about Crimson Sabatt (unless you played the German version, in which case I find this absolutely understandable)? Go stand in the corner. Shame on you.<p> 


End file.
